


Welcome to the Tower

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Based off the Birdcage, Drag Queen!Tony Stark, Drag Queens, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gwen's family is very conservative, M/M, Steve and Tony own a club in South Beach, Superfamily (Marvel), TW: drug reference, The Birdcage (1996) - Freeform, Tony Stark is a Good Dad, Tony being a drama queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:12:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark and Steve Rogers co-own and operate one of the most popular drag shows in South Beach. This is a snippet based off the wonderful movie the Birdcage, where in Tony is a major drama queen and Steve is really trying. The show must go on, after all.</p><p>Bare in mind, I wrote this incredibly cracky fic at three am. I have no idea what came over me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is the chance that this becomes a series, but perhaps not. We'll see how it goes.

South Beach Florida was, in 1985, the place to be. If glittering shores in the day and even more glittery drag shows and clubs at night were not to your taste, than perhaps you’d disagree with the statement above. Even so, what was it about the place, that made it so fantastic? When asking the right people, most would say the clubs, lined up one after another along the beach, each lit like the fourth of july every night. Some would tell you that the best place in South Beach was one particular club, with big gold letters on the front that hung above an ever-present swarm of people.

This club was called the Tower. It was run by a certain Steve Rogers, who if you had asked ten years ago if he thought he’d be running a drag show, he would’ve never in a million years said yes. After serving in the army and college were over, he had somehow managed to meet a drag queen by the name of Tony Stark at a club and fall desperately and hopelessly in love with him. Tony and Steve migrated down south from New York and bought the building that soon became one of the best clubs of the East Coast. That made Steve, now at age 28, the youngest successful club owner in South Beach. Tonight, the star of the show was the great Starina, certain to blow everyone away.

That was, of course, if Tony would show up to perform.

Steve made his way throughout the club, shaking hands with the colorful on lookers and walking through the maze of lights and people.

“Where’s Starina?” Steve asked the stage manager when he got backstage. Rhodey really had been their rock for a while now, managing to keep the beautiful chaos of their show organized throughout all.

“I don’t know. I talked to Jarvis, he said Tony’ll be on in five."

“Good."

Five minutes passed and Tony, or Starina, was nowhere to be found. As the act changed on stage Jarvis made his way down the stairs in a hurry, obviously distressed.

“Steve, Tony won’t go on. He’s still in his robes.” Jarvis’s accent was especially pronounced when agitated.

“Oh, damn.” Steve exhaled, bringing a hand to his forehead as if to sooth a headache that he didn’t even have yet. “Go upstairs, try and get Starina ready, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

-

Starina was not ready.

In the clothing strewn dressing room upstairs Jarvis stood above Tony as he lay on the red chaise lounge, hidden under sheet like a corpse in obvious complete and utter despair.

"Tony, you’ve got to get dressed for me right now, please.” Jarvis said, waving around a pair of black tights in his hand.

“No, Jarvis.” Tony began, his voice slow and thick with emotion. “I will not dance the dance of the red shoes tonight. Or _any_ other night."

“Okay, but how about you just put on your stockings, alright?"

“Starina is _dead_.” Tony wailed from underneath the sheet, heart set on being a complete and utter drama queen. “Do you know how she died?”

“How, Tony?" Jarvis asked, not really bothering to listen to his speech. He began to try and get the black stockings onto Tony’s feet as they stuck out from underneath the blanket.

“Alone.” Tony began, as if he had this monologue prepared especially for this moment. “ _Weeping_ for her lover.” Quickly Tony poked his head out from under the covers and looked at Jarvis with concern. He had a full face of makeup on, having obviously stopped halfway from getting ready to have the second emotional collapse this week. One of his eyelashes was skewed. “Jarvis, have you eaten? You look haggard.”

“Listen, Tony, you’ve got to help me a little.” Was Jarvis’s only response, as he was still trying to get the tights on over Tony’s feet.

“Here, here.” Tony began, sitting up and placing packets of something into Jarvis’s hands. “Supplements. I bought them for Steve, but… That’s all over now.” Momentarily Tony’s voice was raw with emotion once more, and he threw himself back onto the sofa with a sigh.

“Ooookay.” Jarvis said in exasperation, standing back slightly with a scoff. It was going to be a long night.

-

Steve made his way up to the dressing room, stepping the stairs two at a time. Either Tony was pulling another stunt or he wanted this club to be ruined.

“Tony!” He called, quite obviously angry.

“Oh!” Tony cried, getting up quickly to slam the door in Steve’s face.

“Come on, Tony, open up baby, come on.” Steve said, knocking on the door. On the other side Tony dragged a nearby chair to block the entrance further as Jarvis tried desperately to stop him. Jesus Christ, Tony really was a drama queen.

“Open it, Tony, come on!”

“No! Go away! I don’t want you to see me, I’m _hideous_!”

Steve banged on the door again, and in the process of trying to open it tore off the doorknob. “Jarvis? Open the door.”

“I’m trying, Steve, but he’s crazy.” Jarvis called, and finally Tony got up and backed away to return to sitting on the couch in anguish. Jarvis returned the chair to it’s rightful position, but before he could open the door for Steve it was broken down with a crash that sounded like a piano being dropped off a very tall building.

“Are you trying to ruin me, Tony?” Steve asked as he straightened his jacket.

“Don’t look at me, Steve, I’m hideous.” Came the cry from behind the screen that Tony had moved to hide behind. “Old and hideous."

“It’ll pass.” Jarvis said, picking up the abandoned pair of tights off the floor.

“You’ve got a full house waiting for you, Tones.”

“Oh, that’s all I am to you. A meal ticket. Never mind about my feelings.” Tony said, stepping out from behind the screen divider, his silk robe disheveled. “It’s only about your show. Not even our show, your show. It’s not like I payed for the making of this club, or anything."

  
“Oh, stop it Tony.” Steve brought his hand to his hips and rolled his eyes.

Tony scoffed and sat down again, brining his hand to his heart. “Don’t use that tone, that contemptuous tone that means you know everything, because you’re a man. And I know nothing, because I’m a woman.”

“You’re not a woman.”

“You bastard.” Tony threw a nearby shoe at Steve and got up. “I was a winner once, young and full of hope. Now I’m this short, old, insecure middle aged thing.”

“It’s my fault that you’re short?” Steve asked, and Tony gave out a cry as if he had been physically hit.

Soon Rhodey burst into the dressing room, clip board and papers in hand. “What do I do? The number’s nearly over. Do I send Carmen on instead of Starina?"

Thinking, Steve sent a glance over to Tony before looking back at Rhodey with quiet confidence. “We have no choice. Yes.”

“No!” Tony suddenly cried, getting up abruptly. “Not Carmen, how dare you. Please. I will go on. The people have come to see Starina, and Starina will not disappoint them."

Steve sighed contently and gave a glance up at the heavens as if to give thanks. “Okay. Put on the Mambo number then get the staircase ready.” He said to Rhodey before the stage manager ran out the door in a rush.

-

“Jarvis, get me some purin tablets, quickly.” Tony ordered as he walked back to his vanity table, Steve guiding him gently.

“Wait, what are you taking about?” Steve asked with concern, leaning over the chair suspiciously as the clock ticked on.

Jarvis handed Tony a tablet from his pocket. “Just one, okay? For before the show, and one for afterwards. No more, so don’t ask me.” Tony nodded at him gratefully, still ruffled from his dramatic episode.

“Just breath, alright?” Steve asked softly, hands gently rubbing at Tony’s shoulders in attempt to bring a sense of calm to the situation.

“This room is so crowded, could you please, please give me a moment to prepare?” Tony said, though it didn’t sound like a question. Steve sighed and turned to leave with Jarvis, shutting the door. Stopping, he turned towards the brit, who for whatever reason was carrying a wig.

“What are you giving him, drugs? What the hell are purim tablets?” Steve demanded in a low voice so as not to attract any attention.

“Please, it’s Asprin with the A and the S scraped of.” He thought it ridiculous that Steve could possibly think that Jarvis would give Tony drugs, of all things.

“Oh my god what a great idea.”

“I know."

-

Steve closed the door behind him as he went back into the dressing room to find Tony delicately re-applying eyeliner at the vanity table. As Steve sat down on the sofa behind the man, Tony turned to face him, lips pursed, looking as if Steve just done something despicable.

“You don’t love me anymore, Steve.” Before Steve could protest, Tony continued. “There’s a man in your life."

“What are you talking about?”

“I sense it. I sense it, and I saw a bottle of white wine chilling the the refrigerator. I only drink red. And so do you.”

At this Steve smiled softly, grabbing a shiny gold chain off the table and lowering down to his knees. Tony rested his foot onto Steve’s chest as the blonde fastened it around Tony’s ankle, eyes tired and hair mussed.

“There’s no man. I switched to white because red has tannins.” Steve’s hand rested on Tony’s ankle, gently tracing circles with his thumb. “Come on baby, there’s a hundred and fifty people out there, half of them are Kennedys and they’re all waiting for you. Waiting to applaud you, the great Starina."

Pausing, Tony ran his hand under his chin, painted eyes squinting in deep thought. Though the moment of calm was over as quickly as it had begun, and a swift kick was delivered to Steve’s chest, sending him to the floor.

“Tannins?!” Tony exclaimed, as Steve lay content in staring at the shapes on the ceiling. “What do you do while I’m on stage?”

“Nothing, I just lie here."

"Where do you go when I’m killing myself on stage?” Gasping, Tony paused and leaned over Steve. “I know that look. Go ahead, hit me."

“ _No_.” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“Go on. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Well do it. Hit me."

“Jesus, you really are one for theatrics.” Steve sat up, bringing a hand to Tony’s face and kissing him. Slowly, he pulled away, resting back on his elbows. “Go get ready.”

-

“Ladies and gentleman. The one, the only, the incomparable,” Steve spoke into the mic, pausing for dramatic affect as he watched the lights dance across the dark stage. "Starina."

Slow steps were taken down the stage as music played, grand enough to introduce a government official. White lights slowly panned down across the heels that Tony- no, Starina, was wearing.

_Action._

The spotlight’s on Starina, and the performance begins. Tony blows kisses to the adoring audience before turning and looking offstage to blow a kiss to Steve. Smiling, Steve sends one back and stares fondly as Starina looks away and bows to the audience.

“Thank you, thank you. And welcome to the Tower.” Starina sing-songs, hand gesturing across the stage as if she were looking over a grand and sparkling city that was all her own. “It’s going to be a hell’ve a night."


	2. Chapter 2

Steve left halfway through Tony’s performance. 

As soon as he was out of Tony’s line of vision he darted up the stairs to their house, that so happened to be conveniently located above the club. He could still hear the music as he unlocked the back door and made his way into the kitchen, only to find Jarvis sweeping the floor and listening to a very lively song on the radio, donned in a practically florescent orange wig. Steve turned off the radio with a click.

“Oh, hello.” Jarvis said, slight smile on his face.

“Who are you, a stunt double on I Love Lucy?” Steve asked, rushing around to get glasses from the cupboards.

“I’m a combination of Lucy and Ricky."

“Well it’s terrifying. Could you get the white wine out of the refrigerator, put it in an ice bucket, chill two glasses and take the night off?” 

“I’m not your housekeeper.” Jarvis said with a scoff, though went to the fridge as requested. “My mother studied fine arts. My father was a Technical Sergeant of the British Air force." 

 “Then why did they move to New Jersey?” 

“I don’t know, they’re so stupid.” 

Steve smiled softly to himself as he set out candles on the counter, moving quickly to prepare for a visitor. He was visibly nervous, fidgeting with his hands and trying desperately to stay busy.

“Take the night off or I’ll tell Tony you’re wearing his wigs."

“If you do that I’ll tell him you’re seeing someone else while he’s on the stage.” Jarvis threatened, waving the two wineglasses in his hand theatrically.

“I’m not. Now go, and leave the door unlocked."

 -

Outside, by the blue light of the pool, Steve set out candles and places the glasses on the table, perfectly adjacent to the bucket of ice. 

The front door opened and a young man entered, closing it gently behind him so as not to make any noise. He ran his hands along the ornate walls briefly before making his way further into the house, stopping as he glanced through the window to see Steve outside. 

“Hey.” The young man said, and Steve glanced up.

“Hi.”

Soon they were hugging, and Steve’s grin went wide when they pulled back. 

"You look great.” The man said with a smile, turning to examine the very well kept patio. Steve moved to fill the glasses, expression soft. 

The common pleasantries were exchanged between the two, such as “Did you eat?" “Yeah." “Do you want something to drink? White wine?” “Swell."

“Tony just went on.” Steve said, handing the man a glass. "And I gave Jarvis the night off. So we’re alone, as requested.” 

The two sat down in the painted white patio chairs, the sound of crickets a slow hum in the background. 

“So I have something to tell you. I don’t want you to freak out.” The man ran his fingers through his dark hair and sighed, looking sheepish. “...I’m getting married."

"Oh, god."

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.” He said, Steve suddenly looking as though he’d just been told by a flight attendant that one of the engines had combusted into flames in a plane half way over the pacific.  "It’s a girl. I met her at school…” The man continued, pausing as he watched Steve rise from his chair and down the entire glass of wine like it was his last. “…Are you upset?"

“Let me tell you why. First of all, Pete, you’re only nineteen."

“I know, I’m young. But you and Dad always said I was a level headed guy.” Pete stood up and turned towards his step dad, sighing slow and steady like a wave hitting shore. “I am. I just want to hear you say it’s okay, before Dad comes up and starts screaming. You’re definitely the more sane of my parents."

Steve let out a huff, smiling slightly. “Of course it’s okay.  We always knew you’d do this, just not so soon. It’s crazy.” Slowly he refilled their glasses, noting the smile that had spread across Peter’s face. “Let’s drink a toast to this catastrophe."

“Thanks."

“I’m kidding. It’s alright. What’s the lucky girl’s name?"

“Gwen."

 

-

 

“Are you crazy? It’s out of the question. You can’t get married, you’re not even nineteen.” Gwen couldn’t help but think her father’s voice sounded like a particularly grumpy newscaster.

“Who is this boy, Gwendolyn? When was the last time you saw him?” Her mother sat by the fire place, hands folder perfectly across her wrinkle-less skirt. Gwen averted her eyes from the two in annoyance.

“Please don’t call me Gwendolyn. This afternoon at 2 o’clock. We’ve been seeing each other for a year."

“Oh, god. Has he been tested?” Mr Stacy may has well been reading an article that’s headline said ‘WWIII has broken out.’ 

"Oh, George!” Mrs Stacy brought her hand to her heart, brushing her delicately painted fingers across her pearl necklace. “Where does the young man come from, Gwendo-. Gwen. What does his father do?"

Gwen paused for a heartbeat and exhaled. “…His father is in the arts. He’s a cultural attaché to Greece.” A blatant lie. What could she do? You can’t exactly tell your conservative Republican Senator father that you’re fiancé’s gay father runs a drag show. 

“Oh, that’s nice. Sort of like an ambassador, isn’t it. What does the mother do?"

“…She’s a housewife.” Lies, lies, and more lies.

“That’s really refreshing, isn’t it, George?” Mrs Stacy smiled wide, adjusting her cardigan. 

“I can’t talk about this right now.” At that moment the phone started up, and Gwen didn't allow it to ring once before reaching to grab it like the last piece of pizza in the box.

"Hello?” When she realized it was Peter was on the other line, a soft smile appeared on her face. “I just told them."

"Me too.” Came Peter’s voice on the other line, nearly breathless from excitement. “Do you want to talk to my stepdad? I’ll put him on."

Gwen frowned when she saw her father listening to her conversation through the other phone. 

“Stop that, Dad!"

“I thought you said he was in Greece."

Gwen turned back to the phone and listened in, blocking out her father. 

“Hello, Gwen.” Steve’s tinny voice came through the phone, obviously nervous. “Here’s to your future.” He added, raising his wine glass up to his phone and shattering it against the landline in the process. 

“What was that?"

“That was not my toast. I just broke my glass, I’m sorry.” Steve was beginning to become frantic. Peter sighed and ran a hand lazily through his hair.

“Nice talking with you. Sorry, I have to go. Bye.” Gwen quickly hung up on Steve and rose to her feet to address her dad. “How dare you listen in to my conversation, Dad?"

“You said his father was in Greece. You saw this boy this afternoon, how could he be with his father if he was in Greece?"

“No. I… Greece?” Gwen said slowly, glancing over at her mother as if in desperate search for support. “… They’re back. For the winter. At their vacation house in South Beach."

“Oh, is that like palm beach?"

“It’s close. About two minutes from Fisher Island, where Jeb Bush lives.” 

Gwen’s mother nodded enthusiastically while her father, hand brushing against his clean shaven chin in silence, contemplated. 

 -

 While Peter slept, Steve waited by the pool with a glass in hand. How on earth was he going to tell Tony that his son was getting married? Well, he’d find a way. He always did, with Tony.

Sure enough, through the door walked Stark, still dressed in full costume and looking like some kind of cat woman. When walking outside to find Steve he spotted the two glasses, the candles, and _good lord._ The white wine.

“Who is he?” Tony asked, voice raised to a near yell as he picked up one of the glasses in a manner that spilled wine all over the patio chairs. “Who is he?!"

“Stop screaming. It’s Peter."

“Peter?"

“He’s sleeping in his room."

“...Oh.” Tony’s voice softened significantly. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

“Surprise?” Steve said with a smile, only for Tony to respond by downing what was left of the glass in hand. 

-

 Later, Tony crept into Peter’s room, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible so as not to wake him. He went beside Pete’s bed and gently rested a hand to his forehead before picking up the book that his son had fallen asleep in bed with to set to the side.

_He looks so grown up_ , Tony thought as he left the dim lit room. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand in exhaustion, he managed to stain half of his face with a smear of black mascara before heading off to bed. 

 


End file.
